What's A Year On The Ground, Compared To Flying Again?
by SpookedRabbits
Summary: Huddled under his crisp, thin sheets, Hinata waits, apprehensively, for the night visitor. She is polite, kind and eager to please. What she wants he doesn't know. He suspects it's something he should not give.
I do not own Haikyuu, and I gain no financial benefit from this story.

I never intended to write a whole story out of the idea. This is a oneshot for now, because my god I have a lot of stories to catch up on. Sorry to anyone who's reading my FE: Awakening stories, they will be updated. I started an Animation degree so my brain is imploding.

* * *

His friends were busy people. And they really tried.

He could appreciate the difficulty of seeing him. He was just that little too far away for an easy trip, and there wasn't enough time in the day for an extended visit.

He was often visited in the morning by Kageyama, who would pick at the flowers by his bed and pace the room. He could never sit still. Their conversations were stilted, as volleyball had been a solid eighty-five percent of their bonding material. Hinata appreciated his effort even so, and often picked the sort of bantering fights their friendship had developed into. It never failed to relax his awkward companion.

Nishinoya or Sugawara would visit him in the early evening, after practice, and he looked forward to seeing them the most. Nishinoya's confidence filled the room like perfume - Hinata greedily inhaled it, and when Nishinoya eventually departed (usually hurried out by one of the nurses) Hinata was practically floating along the ceiling.

Though not bringing the same wild buoyancy to his visits, Sugawara's calm poise brought a greater gift. He spoke of when Hinata would return to the team, how Natsu had somehow gotten hold of a few of his teammate's phone numbers and now called them almost every night. He quietly confessed he had given Tsukishima's number to Natsu, and not even their surliest member could hang up on an eager child. He brought hope and freshness, and left Hinata with the all-too-brief notion that things would be absolutely fine.

He was texted at practically all times. Kenma checked in obsessively, often with little to say. He would sometimes receive messages at odd times, and Hinata found it was best to respond right away lest Kenma get it in his head to make an emergency visit. Again.

He was bombarded by selfies from Bokuto – though Hinata noticed be never included volleyball pictures in his messages. Kuroo occasionally featured, usually making some sly gesture behind Bokuto's head.

That wasn't even considering the rowdy Vines from Tanaka, Asahi timidly popping his head into his room, Yachi texting him secretly in class, and the myriad other ways his friends kept in touch.

It helped so much. He wondered if he would ever be able to properly explain to them how some days he felt their support was the only thing keeping him afloat. He kept their faces in his head while he half-listened to the doctors give their bewildering and dismal updates on his condition. He thought about seeing them when the nurses were running through his chart. He tried to fill his head with the warm, breezy thoughts of his friends because when he couldn't…

When he was alone with just the beeping machines, he felt like the walls were watching him. For all he knew, they could be.

His least favourite visitor always watched him.

She only came out at night. When moonlight poured in through his windows, and the only electrical lights were those from his many complex machines, and the low hallway nightlights. The nightshift nurses, their shoes squeaking comfortingly, faded away temporarily.

She would step out from a shadow, or her reflection would smile at him from his waterjug and she would be there, like she had been there the whole time.

It would have been easier if she wasn't a she. Or dressed like a she. Each time he saw her, she had almost the same face – androgynous, black hair spilling over her eyes in a fashionably choppy cut, multiple hoops pierced through her elfish ears.

He knew this wasn't what she looked like, because each time she came back a little different. The hair a lighter shade, her chin more pointed, her lashes a little longer. One night, as she wandered about his room, he realised she was refining her look, tweaking parts here and there until she found something he responded to.

Each night, he thought she wouldn't come. Hoped, huddled under his thin hospital sheets, colours dancing drunkenly across his pinched shut eyelids. In the morning the nurses found crimson crescents in his palms, from where he had clenched his fists so tightly he'd drawn blood.

They thought it was from the pain he endured, so they upped his dosage. The drugs cleared from his system as soon as night fell. Thankfully, so did most of the pain. With both gone, Hinata felt almost like his old self.

She always arrived eventually, though. Just when the moon filled his room, its cold light chasing away the shadows but washing out colour.

Tonight she was late. Hinata faintly hoped she had found pressing business elsewhere. A false hope.

He knew she was there this time, when he felt a tiny weight press on his bed.

Her hand rested across the trembling lump he had awkwardly twisted himself into.

He was too frightened to cry out, but his throat tightened painfully. Her hand was like ice. Like she had plunged into snowmelt and not surfaced for days.

"It's a fine night, Hinata."

He nodded once, jerkily.

"You should see the moon tonight," she whispered dreamily, as though he wasn't making every possible effort to keep away from her. "It looks like it's sailing through the clouds. It's so light and free."

He didn't reply. He wondered if she was simply making an observation, or if she intended to barb his pride.

"The moon rises faithfully, but even at its fullest it cannot catch the sun." She leaned over him, and he felt puffs of freezing air pour down his neck. "You have a teammate who thinks like that. Thinks he'll _never_ catch _you_." She seemed to sense his puzzlement, because when she spoke next it was with a lilt of amusement. "Kei-kun. Tsukishima."

Tsukishima. It was the first time she had tried that angle on for size. Kageyama was her favourite, alongside Natsu, Kenma and occasionally Nishinoya. She would switch out her targets randomly, as soon as it seemed he was anticipating her attacks.

"He's a good player," she added, idly toying with his sheets. "I went and watched a game of theirs." She was smiling at him, very kindly, and he belatedly realised he had jerked the covers down. Her eyes positively glowed with delight. "Oh hello, you! You're looking so much better! Spirited."

She giggled at her comment, though he didn't know why.

"You watch their games?" his voice quavered, and he struggled to control the level. No nurse had ever stumbled upon their meetings, but he had entertained all sorts of worst case scenarios of her being discovered. Most of them involved horrific bloodshed.

He feared what would happen if the nurses found nothing.

She nodded enthusiastically, crossing her legs girlishly. She had elected to wear the girl's uniform this time, though she had discarded the blazer and vest, leaving her in a white, short-sleeved shirt. A tiny band of skin showed between the hem of her skirt and her thigh-high black stockings, and Hinata had to tear his eyes away from the strangely intimate sight.

She had gone for a drastic change this time. Her eyes were pale yellow and slitted, like a cat, and he was jarringly reminded of Kenma.

Hinata hadn't responded to Kenma's text messages that day. Just stared at his phone as it dinged away, piling up the messages like a gravesite offering.

He realised he was gawking, which she didn't seem to mind. "You like them?" she asked, her thick lashes sweeping her cheek in a manner reminiscent of Shimizu-senpai.

Shimizu had visited him quite often, obviously struggling to find conversation. It had taken a few visits for him to realise that she wasn't aloof, or even disturbed by his present state – just immeasurably shy. She liked it when he took control of the conversation, and after that it seemed she would happily listen to him for hours.

This time a reply really was expected of him. He shrugged, mumbled something about them being nice.

She was utterly pleased with the answer, and jumped off the bed (to his immense relief) to rush over to his bedside mirror, blinking dramatically at her reflection to get the full effect of her new look. It was only because he was used to looking for the changes, but he observed the colour in them grew a shade bolder.

"It was just a whim, really, I thought I'd try something new! I'm glad it worked out so well," she chattered, twirling from excitement. He tried not to notice how her toes sank a few inches beyond the floor. The first time he realised his visitor only obeyed the laws of physics when she remembered, he had immediately burst into tears, thinking he was forever trapped as a ghost in this awful, sterile, reeking hospital.

It was the first and only time he alarmed her to the point she summoned the nurses herself, and the next morning Kageyama, Daichi and his mother had all shown up at the exact same time. They all seemed equally surprised to see each other, and unsure as to why they had all chosen that time to arrive.

With his cautious approval of her new look, she would be in a good mood for the rest of the night. He tried his luck again. "You…you watched a match of Karasuno's?"

"Mmmhmm! Just a training match. They went fairly late," she said, tugging on one of her earrings now. They seemed to fascinate her. "They're very good. That sweet freckled child is getting more confident. They're all growing very well."

His throat was so dry, he hardly trusted himself to speak, but his eyes felt too large for his sockets. "I'm g-g-glad." It was just the cold, Hinata told himself, drawing his covers up to his shoulders. She dropped the temperature by several degrees whenever she entered the room. He doubted he'd be able to endure a cold snap again without thinking she was behind him.

"But…" it seemed like the word slipped out without her noticing, and she started under his gaze. Was this a trick, too? False embarrassment? "Ah, I'm sorry, I was just thinking…"

She didn't say anything for a full five minutes, which was weird and out of character, for what he knew of her. She stared silently out the window, utterly still. Against his morning vows, and his screaming instincts, he took a sip of water and tried to speak. Engaged her once again. "But what?"

She jumped. Startled, her hand slapping the window. A crazed burst of ice spread like a mandala from her splayed fingers. She jerked her hand back just as Hinata gasped, and looked just as stunned as he was. "Oh…That'll be gone by morning, don't worry!"

She was on the end of his bed in a heartbeat, all smiles. "My apologies, I got distracted. Your teammates are improving so quickly." Hinata still didn't tear his eyes away from the window. The ice wasn't melting. Autumn was warm and it should have dripped away by now.

He roused suddenly by a hard poke in his arm. She was scowling, clearly upset she had lost his attention. "Hinata, I've come to see you. Don't get distracted."

All at once, Shimizu-senpai's voice came to him. He had asked her, cautiously, if she knew anything about spirits. Shimizu had gone very still for a long time, and asked him haltingly why he wanted to know.

He couldn't tell her about his visitor. No one would ever believe him, and he wasn't sure if he even believed himself. He made up some story about reading up on folklore in his spare time, stuttering and stumbling through the lie. Shimizu bought it, though, and had brought him a few books. Gifted him with a few words of caution.

" _Don't get distracted."_

Hinata didn't know how much of it applied to his visitor, but he figured it was a good rule of thumb for anyone who treated gravity as optional.

"S-sorry, I'm just a little tired tonight." She looked curious, so he threw her a nugget of information. "My physiotherapy isn't going well." As expected, she looked equal parts concerned and smugly overjoyed he had chosen to confide in her.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Hinata." _But not surprised_ , was the inferred follow up. He expected her pitch then. She usually didn't wait this long to ask him the first time. Tonight she seemed a little pre-occupied, though she was all smiles everytime she caught his eye.

"You were saying something about the time?" Hinata prodded hopefully, forcing back his own impatience for news.

"They just seemed…a little lost. That setter, you said the position was? The setter kept looking back like he expected you to be there. His tosses seemed - ah, what's the word…disappointed?"

He felt like a massive fist had punched all the air out of him. "O-Oh."

Her smile faded a little – she seemed to realise he was not exactly buoyed by her words. "He's just getting frustrated. Your spitfire coach keeps pulling him up. He's a prideful sort, isn't he?"

Hinata shrugged, tried to plaster a smile on his face. "He can be a real jerk. He was teasing me the other day because…" his voice trailed off. She was fully engrossed again, though.

"Because why?" she urged, eyes wide and keen. Normally he would have bloomed under such a riveted audience, but the nature of Kageyama's ribbing was a small sore spot for Hinata.

"It's nothing," he mumbled, the tips of his ears burning.

"Was he teasing you because of your height again?" his visitor persisted, crossing her arms. "Rude. Not like you can do anything about it now." Was that a hint? Hinata scrutinised her closely, but for all appearances it was an honest remark.

There was no harm in telling her, he supposed. "Kageyama…Yachi kissed him in the club room after practice."

"And you would prefer Yachi kissed you?" she asked instantly, too intense for plain curiousity.

Hinata waved his hands quickly, trying to stave off the sulk he sensed on the horizon. "No, that would be, just, _ack_! It was annoying, 'cause…" His tongue tied into an insecure knot.

"…Because?"

"I haven't…kissed anyone. Apart from my family. I haven't kissed someone…like that." Hinata scowled. "Kageyama won again." He expected her to scoff, or empathise.

She burst out laughing, covering her eyes with one hand and using the other to hold herself up against the bed. " _Really_? That's what you're embarrassed about?!" she had trouble speaking around her giggles, her shoulders heaving. "Because your setter had a sloppy, toothy kiss in a sweaty old room at your school?"

She partially collapsed to the floor, still laughing, and Hinata had to quickly cover his mouth so she wouldn't see his grin.

"Doesn't matter how good it was!" he protested when she finally hiccoughed out of her laughing fit. "He's still ahead!"

"I can help you with that," she offered immediately, hopping up with a purpose which left a ball of apprehension in Hinata's stomach. "I've never kissed anyone before, either." He strongly suspected that was a lie, but he didn't have much time to dwell on it.

She seemed larger than life, sliding up closer, half on his legs now, and her chill was just a pleasant tingle. Her hand swept up to loosen a couple of her buttons, and to his immense shock he looked down and where had his shirt buttons gone, her breath tickled his chest, prickling in a way not entirely related to the cold –

"Wait," he blurted out, just as the blue lace of her – her – her…his mind mercifully blanked.

He could see the top of her breasts, round and creamy, half-hidden by her rumpled shirt.

She didn't look hurt, just curious. "You don't like females?"

"I do!" he protested hotly, trying as hard as he could not to look at the sensuous expanse of marble-white flesh just a few inches from him. He felt himself…twitch, despite the trauma his body had been put through, and he felt hysterical laughter stir in his gut. "I just…" _You're cold. You're freezing. You're so scary I can't sleep even after you leave. Your lips look soft and warm but I know they'll be as cold as your hands. You think I don't notice when your eyes burn blue, but I do. I've never heard of anything that has eyes like you._

Her head tilted, hair feathering softly across her forehead. "Ah, you like females…but _perhaps_ are curious about males." His visitor was leaning forward, her hair snapping once in some unfelt breeze before streaming upwards into thick spikes, the shade warming to coffee brown. Her eyes changed, becoming intensely toffee coloured and slightly angular. Little changes; her arms wired with muscle, her hands a little rougher, face reshaping and shifting fluidly until Nishinoya half-lay across his legs.

Hinata gaped. If he hadn't seen her shift right in front of him, he would have jumped in fright to see his senpai suddenly appear on his bed. The copy was perfect. Perhaps because she was working from an actual model, rather than trying to create something new?

Blinking, he noticed that the trace wasn't actually completely perfect. "Ummm…" she looked at him expectantly, waiting for his critique, and even though she had been…been haunting him for the past two weeks he was gratified by her desire for his approval. "You…forgot his fringe. The little blond…pwewf."

Uncomprehending for a minute, then he practically saw it dawn on her – on Nishinoya's…on that face. She laughed, the sounding jarringly Noya-senpai, and shook her head. The fringe flopped down, paling quickly to the exact shade.

"Better?" she asked, and _oh,_ it was just like Nishinoya's confident, low tone. He never would have told anyone (had scarcely been aware of it himself) but some nights in that floating rest between the waking world and sleep, he shyly began to think back to his team. Yachi and Shimizu were easy – the way they jogged across the court, lithe and light. Especially, though…when Shimizu-senpai met his gaze it was almost like he was struck across the cheek; she combined a shrewd intensity and tranquillity that made him understand why Tanaka and Nishinoya were desperate for her attention.

Hinata's hand usually started wandering at that point, safely ensconced under his covers. His thoughts would flick to the muscles at play in Tsukishima's back when he pulled his shirt over his head; the way Nishinoya would tilt his chin when he grinned; Droplets of water slipping down Sugawara's neck from his post-shower damp hair; The fine dark hair, starting at his navel and trailing into Nishinoya's gym shorts, entrancingly visible as Noya-san stripped off his kit…

Hinata swallowed so hard his Adam's Apple bobbed crazily. He began to understand why she had chosen Nishinoya.

Her grin widened. "I can tell. Better." She leaned up, closer, and if he was hard pressed to refuse before he was virtually paralysed now, watching Nishinoya's heart-shaped face draw closer, his eyes intensifying to molten honey and a tiny pink tongue moistening pale lips…

Utterly charmed, Hinata's own tongue darted out, licking his chapped lips in anticipation -

Then he saw that glint of blue, scything under gold. In response to some deeply ingrained animal instinct howling out, Hinata shoved Nishinoya – his visitor so hard, she was sent flying across the room.

Agony exploded in his lower back, a hot thud of spike-crammed grenades. Hinata strangled the scream bubbling along his lips. Couldn't let the nurses see, couldn't let them know, or he'd be under twenty-four-hour watch again.

Fighting back sweeping nausea, his vision spotting grey, Hinata concentrated on the exercises he had been taught. Controlled breaths…one…two…three…

Through pain-squinted eyes he saw his visitor had already returned to his side, Nishinoya's face melting like wax into her former features. It was repulsive, but he was too far gone to care. He had definitely pulled something too far; his arm didn't want to work as he scrambled for the call button -

Her wintry fingertip touched his forehead, and blessed relief flooded his system, like cool water trickling down his ruined spine, washing away his suffering wherever it flowed. The pain was gone, albeit temporarily. He didn't want to imagine how far back he set his physiotherapy.

Her face was apologetic. "I did not desire to cause you distress. Quite the opposite." He couldn't help but feel it had worked out in her favour somehow.

"What do you want?" she seemed surprised by his defeated tone. "What do you want from me? You keep coming here, and…and you won't stop asking me that stupid question." He raised his head laboriously to meet her eyes. "I don't know why you keep asking me."

She blurred suddenly, into streaky blues and whites; Hinata half-heartedly brushed at his eyes, tears tracking down his cheeks anyway.

He felt the tissuebox being nudged against his hand. A flicker of defiance stopped him from reaching for it right away.

Water sloshed into a glass nearby, and his visitor pressed a glass into his hand. The water was icy, especially so, considering it had come from the jug by his bed.

"I'm asking you because we can offer each other what we really want," she explained patiently, as she explained every night. He was getting really _sick_ of that. "What are you willing to give me, so I can give you what you need?" That awful, puzzling question she asked each time, like he knew the answer all along and was just withholding it out of spite.

"I can't give you anything," he growled angrily, feeling two weeks' worth of tension and confusion rise, bilious and vile. "I-I'm a high school student, I don't have money or – or expensive things or anything!" The tears came again, pushed up by his frustration. "I couldn't even _jump_ for you. And that's all I was good at."

"Shouyou!" She flicked him on the forehead. Actually flicked him, like he was a child. Even that touch was chilled, but it was almost welcome. "That's outrageous!"

He gawped at her, his tears utterly stoppered as she got into her topic. "You are a fine student, when your taught correctly! You have prodigious talent at volleyball, and the drive to achieve even greater skill. And perhaps most of all –" her eyes cut back to him, and he gulped audibly " – you are needed by the people in your life. They need you back with them, and whole again."

Hinata shivered then, like a tree in a gale. "I don't…I can't."

"Why?"

Her question was so out of place, especially considering what was plainly in sight, Hinata almost couldn't put his answer into words. "The doctor's said – "

"Pah!" Her hand waved dismissively. "Doctors. Acceptable, if somewhat limited, keepers of the mortal body. How effective my methods are does not relate to stitches, scalpels or scans. I need to know what _you_ , Shouyou, are willing to give toachieve your dreams. My methods are a little outside of modern medicine, but they're remarkably straightforward."

Panic seized him once again, and unable to draw his knees up to his chin he crossed his arms protectively in front of his chest. A horrible thought struck him, a piece of information from one of Shimizu-senpai's books floating to the front of Hinata's mind. "You're…you can't have my soul! I need it still, probably, and…" his voice trailed off because his visitor, first stupefied, was now laughing.

"Oh, Shouyou! I am a fair person - and honestly a soul, let alone one of your calibre, would need the world in exchange. I'm not in the business of collecting souls, unlike some less reputable folk I know." She composed herself, looked him dead in the eye, and Hinata felt the balance between them shift. "Let me make _you_ an offer, then. I know what you desire most, right now, and what you will desire for the rest of your life." She leaned in close, her yellow eyes burning away briefly to blue. Blue blue blue, all blue, no iris, no pupil, no whites. They looked weirdly hollow, like they were two eyeshaped holes into another universe. " _A year's worth of your life…for your legs back_."

If Hinata could have torn his gaze away, he would have looked down at his legs. The useless, atrophying appendages that used to make him _soar_. If he could, he would have reached for them, flicked his fingers against his knees as he had done a thousand times since his accident, only to feel nothing. As much sensation as if he were doing it to a branch.

A year of his life? What did that even mean? Would she just suck it out of him, like a big vacuum, and suddenly he wouldn't live to eighty-nine?

He suddenly got an overwhelming urge to call Shimizu-senpai. She would know what to do, what to say to this good-naturedly waiting creature. If not Shimizu, then Nishinoya, or Tanaka, or Sugawara, Kageyama, his mother, his father, anyone to charge in and put and stop to whatever mad world his life was devolving into…

A blink, and her cat-eyes returned. He was unexpectedly grateful. "It's just a year," she coaxed. "What's a year, compared to _decades_ of doing what you do best? A fraction of your life, so you can live the rest to the fullest." Her approached was different this time. She gave him more information than before, and he frantically turned over their conversation of the night, of the past few days - anything to give him a clue. What had happened to change her tactics? Was it something he said? Did she think he was getting used to her?

He was. As much as he hated admitting it, she was the only one (aside from a particularly brisk nurse) who didn't cushion their conversation. Didn't avoid looking at the thin lumps he kept hidden under his blanket. Didn't make false sounding comments, like "you'll be back on track in no time!" or "I'm sure there's lots of options out there for you!".

He didn't want other options. He wanted to play volleyball. And feel his sneakers squeak when they caught polished wood. Ride his bike over the mountain every day, and watch the sun come up. Wrestle with Natsu and race Kageyama and _just once more_ , see the view above the net.

His sides trembled.

"I-I can't just disappear for a year," he protested weakly, but he could already feel the court gripping his shoes, feel the adrenaline rush of turning on a dime and racing the ball to the floor. "My family…and my school, the team – "

She was laughing, waving her hands for him to stop. "Oh, Shouyou, I'm not going to just…spirit you away! I'm a reasonable figure, my dear, and I'm happy to go onto payment plans! An hour here, an evening there, a day if it goes into your more independent years." She folded her hands neatly again, and he knew she had full control over this conversation. "Honestly, a year goes much faster than you think. I wouldn't be surprised if you completed your contract by the end of your second year; your third at the latest."

He was wavering. He knew. He knew she could tell. "It's full service as well," she added, grinning. "You get your legs, your reflexes, your damaged braincells, all fixed up. I repair torn ligaments, tendons, heal microfractures – I even sort out your shrivelled little muscles. By the end you'll probably end up in better shape than when you started." She grinned wider, if possible, and her eyes burned like stars. "Your mother will call it a miracle, the doctors will be baffled, but you'll be whole and, I guarantee, back on the court before we hit Friday."

It was Tuesday.

"Interest free," she continued. "You serve the three hundred and sixty-five days, no more and… _no less_. And after that you get to enjoy your body for the rest of your life and, with any luck, we will never see one another again."

"But why me?" he burst out, asking the question that had been plaguing him for weeks. Why me? Why someone whose biggest claim to fame was playing high school volleyball fairly well? An immature, short kid who didn't have enough brains to make a pancake.

To her credit, she gave him due consideration. "Because…you have a spark to you, Shouyou. An energy. I've watched it for a while." She smiled too widely. "I'd hate to see it snuffed out."

He stubbornly refused to look away, until she sighed and shifted a little. A few ice crystals formed under her palms, and he wondered if she was getting frustrated. "As much as I would love to just gift you your legs, I can't actually do that. Payment is required. I'm offering you the minimum exchange."

"I still don't get it," he muttered, pulling his blanket up. He was weary. His bedside clock informed him it was getting on midnight.

" _It's important you get back on your feet_." She was once again in his personal space, her eyes wide, unblinking. "But there are rules which need to be followed. Not my rules, Shouyou, but rules set by people long ago who thought they were just a formality."

"Who? What rules?" His head was beginning to hurt, a dull throb in his forehead. "Formality?" She was being so cryptic and unusually serious.

"Irritating people, with little idea of the consequences of their actions." She sounded more grouchy than hateful, as though they had misplaced the housekeys or left a carton of milk out on the table. "Hinata, please understand that what I am offering you is not what I would offer anyone else."

His brow furrowed, as Hinata tried to consider the scope of what she was saying. Not even to Kageyama, or Takeda-sensei? Not to the Emperor, or the Prime Minister, or the President of the United States? Not little Natsu? He frowned, unsure as to how he had suddenly become of a higher status than the leaders of nations.

A single sheet of paper was shoved under his nose, and he took it automatically. It was thick and silky between his fingers, the calligraphy curling across the page more delicate than he could ever achieve in his lifetime.

"A basic contract," his visitor explained airily, leaning back on his bed with an air of forced relaxation. "Please read it all the way through, it's an excellent habit for later on in life."

Hinata kept his head down, reading slowly, determined not to be tricked. If there was a trick. The contract, despite its refined appearance, was very straightforward. In exchange for a full recovery from his wounds, and a little "editing" to smooth the transition, Hinata Shouyou would assign the equivalent of one full Earth solar year (approximately eight thousand, seven hundred and sixty hours) to the service of…His eyes swam a little every time he tried to read her name, and a little voice whispered her name wasn't important anyway, so he moved on.

Hinata Shouyou would be afforded certain benefits over his service, to improve his rate of success in his tasks. Upon completion of his contract, he would retain his initial exchange but stripped of all additional benefits. If he wished to permanently keep any benefits, the terms would be worked out with… _his eyes slid away again_ …and extra time would be added to his service as payment.

Death was not an end to the contract, but if his soul became irretrievable, the remaining duration of his tasks would be passed onto a suitable successor.

He skimmed through the rest of the contract, conscious of her gaze boring into his skull.

What do you think?" she asked, and he raised his head a little cautiously.

"I dunno…" he peeked at her. "It sounds…really dangerous."

She wasn't smiling, but she wasn't thunderously angry. She merely looked thoughtful, like she was trying to decide on the best course of action.

"Shouyou…do you know what happens when you get into a fight?" she asked.

Hinata shrugged, feeling distinctly like he was being singled out in a class he hadn't prepared for. "You…get beat up?"

His visitor smiled. "That too, but do you know what happens when the opponents enter the fight? They do the exact same thing, whether they are aware of it or not."

Hinata shook his head. Her smile widened. "They both accept that they may die." His face must have been priceless, because she giggled. "Happily, it doesn't have to be quite that extreme. Perhaps you would prefer volleyball as a medium? When you step onto that court, do you go in with the full intention of walking off victorious?"

" _Of course_!" Hinata couldn't believe she had to ask that question.

"I believe you! And do you also realise your opponent faces you with the exact same intention?" Hinata nodded, feeling a little like a bobblehead doll. "You both enter the court, the arena, believing you will win but also knowing that in exchange, someone must lose. And however much you _insist_ you will win - that there is no other possible outcome - you also accept that there _is_ a chance you will lose."

"I…I get it. You mean that…in order for there to be a big reward, you also have to risk a lot? Maybe…Maybe even something you can't afford to lose?" If she could have smiled brighter, he would have been blinded. She actually clapped her hands.

"Yes, excellent! You're a fast learner!" She leaned in conspiratorially, and a little swept up in the moment and the praise she lavished, Hinata leaned in to. "So what do you do, every morning, when you open your eyes?"

Her switch was jarring, but she still looked expectant, like this was a natural progression. Hinata swallowed, and tried to think back to what they had talked about. A win would be…opening his eyes. So a loss would be not opening them?

"Every morning…" she nodded encouragingly. "Every morning…I make the same bet that I won't lose?"

"An outstanding answer! Every morning, when you wake up, you make the choice to get out of bed. Each step you take is a choice, whether it's conscious or not, to keep living. To keep thriving. Even now –" with an expansive sweep, she summed up his tiny hospital room. He had almost forgotten where they were, "– you make the choice to keep going. To risk death and maiming and illness and grief, so you may attain wonderful things. Joy. Triumph. Love. Connection."

She smiled at him, with a tenderness he had not seen before. "You took that gamble one day…and you lost. I can erase that debt, and you can start again, but perhaps with a little more luck on your side."

"So…it's not as dangerous as it sounds?" Hinata asked, and she shifted a little closer to him.

"Oh no, Shouyou. It's just as dangerous as it sounds. But no more dangerous than living on a fragile ball of dirt in a capricious galaxy. No more than getting out of bed every day. But this time, I will be around to help you." She grinned toothily. "It rather improves your odds." She indicated the paper. "If you want to be whole again…press your thumb in the box at the bottom."

Dropping his gaze to his contract once again, Hinata's head swirled with questions and doubts. Her argument was enlightening, but it was still a huge risk. Could he tell anyone? What would he do? Who would be his successor? If he accepted, and it turned out to be a farce...could he live with himself?

His gaze was drawn, as though magnetised, to the window.

Somewhere out there was a volleyball court - dark now, but he could already see it bathed in light and greedily waiting for its players to fill its space. Over the mountain, his family was hopefully asleep, though his mother was terribly pale nowadays. In the town, Kageyama went to sleep expecting to wake without his other half waiting for him on the court. Nishinoya was probably sleeping soundly, and didn't _that_ image make his chest tingle.

His life was waiting for him to return, to step back into the Shouyou-shaped hole he had left behind when he was first wheeled into this hospital.

"Will you just make everyone forget the accident?" he asked hoarsely, his hands beginning to shake and seize.

His visitor squirmed visibly. "I…normally would make it so the inciting incident never happened but there appears to be someone who…is _sticky_."

Hinata blinked owlishly. "Sticky?"

She looked irritable. "Yes, sticky. It's the closest I can get to the sensation. Erasing the incident could prove problematic if someone aside from you recalls it." She smiled reassuringly. "Don't fret. Plan A is just the easiest, Plan B makes you look better. You won't experience any problems."

Hinata didn't reply. His visitor didn't fidget. Instead she gave the aura of fidget, which was almost as bad.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Hinata slowly pressed his thumb against the paper.

The paper bit him. Hard.

He yelped, tried to pull away but it had him in a strong grip. Up until this point in his life he had been blissfully ignorant of how paper fangs felt. A sharper sting indicated the teeth had pierced his skin - he felt blood soak into the paper, and the surface rippled eagerly. Hinata felt vaguely ill.

Then all at once whatever was holding his thumb receded, and he snatched his hand up to his chest. A jagged circle of pinpricks dotted his thumbpad, already closing over.

On the paper, his blood shone brightly for a second, vividly red in the minimal light. Before his scarcely believing eyes, it began to flow into new shapes, picking out strokes and flourishes.

 _Hinata Shouyou._ His name stood out starkly.

"Who are you?" he asked faintly, staring at his name picked out in bright red. "What are you?"

"Someone who pulled an awful lot of nightshifts," she answered cheerily, snapping up the contract with the air of a pleased pet-owner whose pup just mastered fetching the morning paper. "You made an excellent choice, Shouyou, and may I just offer my compliments to your bartering skills?"

Hinata gaped at her, before finding his voice. "My – my whats?"

"You held out much longer than I thought you would!" She seemed giddy, almost drunk on her success, her words flooding out unstoppably. "I'm so happy you've come on board! The legs are just the _beginning_ , you were my _favourite_ – I wanted to get your body sorted out right away so I'll give you the full details later, but this will be a great opportunity for you, Shouyou!"

His vision was turning all white and weird at the edges. "Who…you didn't…who are you?"

She leaned in until their noses bumped together. Her cat eyes shattered, dissolving like sugar glass in the rain, revealing the full blueness of her eyes. Her sockets indeed appeared hollow at first, blue light glowing from within, but as he looked deeper he realised they weren't quite empty, and not entirely blue. Devoid of eyeballs, yes, but he peered into a deep, swirling galaxy of pearls and diamonds, lit like blue fire and faceted a thousand times each by the blueness of infinity. It struck him that they certainly weren't precious stones.

It was gorgeous. It was ethereal. It was much, much larger than what could be contained in a human head.

His stomach dropped out, just as he felt as though he was falling in. As finite and inescapable as crossing the event horizon of a black hole.

He distantly heard her chuckle – her boundless gaze filled his vision, leaked under his eyelids and began to filter into his brain. Was he shrinking, or was she growing larger? Her eyelashes fluttered a little, weirdly watchful, as though they were sentinels preventing the unworthy from robbing the galaxy of gems.

"What are those lights?" Hinata whispered faintly. His limbs, his outline, his _everything_ felt hot and flowing – not unpleasantly. He remembered going to an old-fashioned onsen with his parents when he was younger. In the evening they had sat outside, immersed in soft, gloriously warm water, giggling and staring out at the mid-winter snow.

Warm, comfortable and safe, with a chill breeze tweaking his nose. He felt better than he had in ages.

To his fuzzy surprise, she answered. "Something very precious."

She laughed again. He felt it in his soul. "Shouyou. When you wake up, you'll be able to run out those doors. I'll find you when I need you. You'll know me by name, but not by face." How could he know her by name? He didn't doubt her, though.

He was obliterated by sapphire supernova.

* * *

It's a real dilemma because I love Nishinoya/Hinata, Kenma/Hinata and Sugawara/Hinata. But I also am curious about Shimizu/Hinata.

Please let me know what you think, if you have suggestions, if anything was glaringly wrong.

I privately named the OC Fuyuki. It can be written in many ways, but in this case "winter snow" or similar would be perfectly apt.


End file.
